


Keloid

by bug_from_space



Series: lac·er·a·tion [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Embedded Images, Gen, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tim Drake, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tim Drake-centric, aesthetic included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bug_from_space/pseuds/bug_from_space
Summary: ke·loid (n.)/ˈkēloid/Raised pinkish scar tissue at the site of an injury; results from excessive tissue repair.Tim wants the scars to be gone- he wants to benormal.(But normal's meant for people who weren't driven mad.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first batverse fic, and Tim, the poor thing, is my favourite of the batkids, so it seemed only fair I write something for him.
> 
> But disclaimer: I haven't watched the movie where this idea is spawned from, all the information is gathered from various fics, and copious googling. And like a couple 
> 
> Notes: both Janet _and_ Jack are dead, Jason is either dead, or recently resurrected, he is, at any rate, an unknown, and Tim after the events, was placed in a hospital by Bruce, I think that about covers everything!
> 
> Enjoy!

Tim Drake knows he isn’t really Tim anymore- not fully at least. He knows that the parts that made him _him_ (brilliant, Robin, photographer) aren’t really who he is anymore. He knows that the Joker and Harley jumbled together everything, until the thing that came out of it was only a vague artist’s impression of coherency. 

There are a handful of truths Tim knows as sure as the fact that Bruce Wayne is Batman. One, Dick visits once every two weeks, but he never speaks to him. He knows that Dick isn’t sure which is harder, seeing his little brother like this, or having to bury one. (If Tim had to guess, he’s say this was harder, at least with death it’s a clean break). 

Two, Barbara visits more frequently. Every week, like clockwork, but only ever speaks to him every second one; the guilt from not finding him faster, and the emotional processing takes that long. Sometimes she arrives with two books, an English to foreign language dictionary, and a fictional one. So far he’s been gifted the Hobbit in Latin, Animal Farm in German, and To Kill a Mockingbird in Welsh. It’s a challenge- a puzzle to work out the linguistic patterns, and meanings. It helps to stave off the boredom and the insanity.

Three, Bruce never visits. (The guilt of failing two of his sons is enough to stop him from ever crossing the hospital threshold.)

Four, Alfred’s visits are sporadic. They come when he was out in Gotham and he finds himself at the hospital, wishing to see his youngest grandson. (Because he is, Tim knows, just as Dick is the first, and Jason is the lost). But when he comes, he talks to him, every time. Sometimes Alfred tells him about the family, and about the news. Other times the conversation is stilted and awkward, the air thick with words that Tim can’t articulate. And Alfred will continue conversation before smiling politely and leaving, and it makes for a few blessed moments of almost normalcy. (On good days, Tim hugs him, but those are few and far between.)

He wonders sometimes if his parents would have come. Probably, he imagines, to keep up the image of deeply concerned parents, but he doesn't know if they would actually care. They didn’t know him, always off somewhere in the world, but they were still his parents, and Tim remembers some of the moments with his mother, and father from when he was small, and they would speak to him when they were home. Jack and Janet drake were not good parents, but he wants to think that they loved him. (It pains him to admit he doesn't know for sure if they loved him/if they’d come.)

The boredom is the worst though, when he’s floating in the nothingness of his own thoughts. It’s in those moments that his muscles spasm uncontrollably (electric shocks applied liberally by an untrained maniac do that), and with every passing shadow comes an aborted flinch. It’s hard, because he knows he isn’t getting better in the way people want and expect. The doctors can’t help him, they don’t know what the problem is, and neither does Bruce. (It’s a childish belief, but he wanted to think that he would come crashing in and save him, and even now, he wants to think Bruce can find what’s wrong and _fix_ him.)

So he gets to sit here, and pretend that the voice in the back of his head is him, and not J.J. (a compromise with his own mind, it’s a funny thing to make; but he can’t-won’t call it Joker Junior). It’s not even really a person, just an image- an echo of someone that never properly existed. It says things sometimes, horrible things that he blocks out. (It’s better than it was two months ago, he tells himself, it _has_ to be better.)

It isn’t Arkham at least, a small comfort, but one nonetheless. The doctors aren't cruel, just absent, and the antipsychotics keep him somewhat stable. (The medley of drugs is the only thing that keeps him from trying to claw off his own skin, and killing everyone in the room). He’s not safe, necessarily, but at least here his biggest threat is himself, and even then, usually he’s better than he was. (Antipsychotics, antidepressants, anti-anxiety medications are a daily dose of normal, and maybe one day he’ll actually be closer to it than he is now- than he pretends to be.) He attends therapy when he’s supposed to, and he rarely breaks down laughing. 

When that happens he _can’t stop_. Tears start to stream down his face, and he can never get enough air (helpmesavemesavemeIcan’tIcan’tbreathe). A manic grin graces his features, and he can distantly hear the doctors and the nurses tranquilizing him, and then the world fades to black, and the sounds become unimportant white noise. (He never thought that he’d be thankful for oblivion.)

It’s lonely, but he’s getting better (at least, he’s getting better at ignoring J.J.). Even the Joker was dead ( _‘you killed_ him’ the treacherous part of his mind that was still his whispered). A bit of collateral damage was to be expected, and safety nets were always in place in case. (‘They weren’t looking for you, they don’t care about you, not like Mummy and Daddy’ J.J. says, and Tim pushes the thoughts back (the Joker and Harley were _not_ his parents). Of course they cared about him, of course.) It was just unfortunate that he was the collateral.

Sometimes Tim shifts to poke and prod at one of the pairs of dotted scars that littered his arms and legs. The sites of damage from the electrical shocks. Familiar in their brutality, and nothing but a new layer to add to the tapestry that was his mangled skin. The actual damage had been healed up, had been for over a month, but the scars would remain, a physical reminder of the trauma. (‘How could you? How could you? How could you?’ J.J. asks, and Tim fears the answer (Because I’m a monster, and I destroy everyone and everything I touch.))


	2. Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an aesthetic I made.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feed this starving author comments. Tell me how I did on this. I've never written I this world or for this character before.


End file.
